


true colors

by Alienu



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: BoyxBoy, Comfort, Crushes, DREAM 10 MIL POG, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Minor Violence, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Romance, Secrets, Slight horror, Swearing, based off george's colorblind video, i don't really know what to put, im sorry, mentions of sapnap and badboyhalo, panicking stuff, parasite mask au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alienu/pseuds/Alienu
Summary: “You look...different.” He verifies slowly, watching in almost stunned shock as the substance drips down from the chin of his friend’s mask.“I’m so happy for you!” Dream's giddy voice rings out in the still air.Suddenly, for the first time in his life George can’t decide whether he really means that or not.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 560
Collections: MCYT





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> based off the colorblind video also i'm trying to work on pacing so don't come at me if some lines sound weird i was pulling them out of my ass at 12am leave me alone
> 
> Inspired by lowfatmillk's amazing comic on Instagram (yes it is also based off the colorblind video). Check it out!

“I’m going to be the first thing you see through the colorblind glasses!”

George suppresses a smile at Dream’s exclamation. He looks around the dull, dead-looking (at least for him) terrain. The trees, which Dream had always described as vibrant green, cast dark shadows over the flat lands, which are covered in grass and dotted in probably colorful flowers. Not that he could see the colors, but hopefully that would change soon. In his hands are the glasses—their lenses are a peculiar red, according to his masked friend—staring up at him and waiting to be used. The plastic feels smooth against his unsteady fingers. George takes a deep breath, glancing up again at his companion. 

“I’m nervous.” He admits, tapping his palm with the glasses. He looks around again, at the colorless lands that he’s been seeing his whole life. Dream nudges him, smiling—George can tell even with the blond’s signature white mask covering his face—and moves to step away. He backs up, throwing his arms out to gesture to the vast world. Buildings are nowhere in sight, only the forest to the left with its clusters of trees and the lush, peaceful plains that stretch out for miles on end on the right. George finds it endearing, the way Dream’s dirty blond hair peeks out from under his hood and spills over the top of the mask as he gushes about how great this was gonna be. How happy he felt for George. It was...cute, he thinks to himself.  _ He’s  _ cute. It feels sort of weird—allowing himself to freely think that his companion was adorable or attractive in any way that wasn’t friendly was not something he did often. Then again, in the days before now he had steadily begun to accept the blooming feelings of non-platonic affection that he was developing for his (best)friend. So maybe that had something to do with it. 

“Why are you nervous? You’ll get to see how bright the world really is, George!” Dream says giddily, “You’ll be able to see everything so much  _ better!” _

George rolls his eyes playfully, “You’re such an idiot,” he huffs—but there is no real bite or ill-intent behind his statement. Idiot had become a term of endearment for them, a unique sort of unspoken thing that both of them had wordlessly agreed on. He sluggishly moves the temples of the glasses out, preparing the accessory to finally be donned, “Alright, you ready?”

“Are  _ you _ ready?” Dream shoots back. George shrugs in response and turns away to glance across at the landscape one last time.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He answers simply, and lifts the glasses to his face. 

He doesn’t see anything at first, because Dream insists that he closes his eyes as he put the glasses on for ‘dramatic effect.’ Honestly, George thought it was dumb, but he does so anyway because it wasn’t too big of a deal. Only when he can feel the accessory secure on his face, the temples pressing comfortably into the sides of his head, does he open his eyes and gaze out across the terrain.

He has to do a double take, because he almost doesn’t believe that he’s in the same world. George takes the glasses off for a brief moment, then puts them back on as a soft ‘what?’ escapes him. Disbelief floods his system. With just one action the world has turned so vibrant and so much more  _ colorful _ . It was…stunning. It was beautiful. “No way..”

Next to him, Dream finally speaks, curiosity tinging his words, “Does it look different?” 

George stares out at the now more vibrant, bright landscape. He whips around, staring first at their feet—where colorful flowers dot the grass, and then trailing his eyes up to see—

“You’re  _ green!” _ He grabs at his friend’s hoodie, immediately hyper focused on the one piece of clothing. He brings the fabric closer to his eyes, not bothering to even look at Dream’s face because  _ what the fuck it’s green! _ Dream laughs, letting George grab at his arm for a short moment before he pulls away, making George cry out a protest of, “Come back!” and bends down to grab at a stray dandelion. It is ripped from the ground unceremoniously—poor thing—but the brunette cannot bring himself to care much as he ‘ah’s’ in realization, stepping back and getting a full view of his friend as he straightens and holds the flower up to his chest. The movement allows him to finally catch a look at Dream’s (masked, of course) face. 

Something that can only be described as ice cold fear grips his body, washing over him and freezing him in place as he stares upon the blond in front of him. Dream carries the dandelion in front of him, seemingly oblivious to the sharp toothed, black smile stretching across his mask. George stares at the soulless black voids that were now the eyes of the white cover, a slick black liquid slipping down the cheeks of the plastic in an almost tear-like fashion. It drips onto the grass, but Dream seems unfazed by this, and further unaffected by the rancid stench of what can only be described as bloodlust and death oozes from him. George’s stomach curls in on itself, the urge to vomit bubbling up in his throat. His mind is a whirlwind of panicked, distressed thoughts.  _ What the fuck? _

“Well, can you tell that it’s different?” Dream prompts. George lifts his hands to his face, taking off the glasses. He blinks, seeing the horrific features disappear and the normal, placid mask that he was used to seeing back in place. Had he just been imagining it? He stares back down at the accessory in his hands, then back up at Dream, who cocks his head curiously at him. “Can you?”

George opens his mouth to speak, only for his throat to constrict and no sound to exit. His chest clenches in terror.  _ Say something! _

“Um..yeah,” he chokes out—the way his voice was so blatantly strained made him wince, “you look darker.”  _ Was I imagining it? _

“Put them back on!” Dream enthuses, completely ignorant to the way that George’s head was buzzing with thousands of frantic thoughts and questions. “Look—flower, then me!” 

George, hesitantly, puts on the glasses. He’s prepared this time, all the muscles in his body tensing up in trepidation as he’s met with the same horrifying sight. Dream leans forward, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, and holds the flower up. “Well?”

“You look...different.” He verifies slowly, watching in almost stunned shock as the tar-like substance drips down from the chin of his friend’s mask and onto the bright dandelion in his hand. George pulls the glasses off again, the sickening sight vanishing with the removal of the lenses, and can’t help but tense when Dream bounds forward to pull him into a tight embrace.

“I’m so happy for you!” His giddy voice rings out in the still air, and suddenly for the first time in his life George can’t decide whether he really means that or not. The blond’s arms wrap around him, his hands sending chills—not good ones—up the brunette’s spine. George can’t move, his own arms hanging heavy at his sides, and is unable to bring himself to hug Dream back. 

Unfortunately, this doesn’t escape Dream’s attention. The masked man pulls away, suddenly quiet, and inclines his head down to stare at George. “Why are you so tense?” Dream inquires, his tone tinged with worry. He chuckles, a hint of something that sounds like nervousness buried deep in his tone, “Does it look that different?”

Suspicion hisses in the back of his mind.  _ Why would he be nervous? _

“You’re...green.” George tries to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. For the first time since he’s known Dream, he’s suddenly scared of him. The glasses had shown something that Dream probably had no idea he could see. And while George didn’t know exactly what the sight meant, he could easily assume that it likely wasn’t something good. The idea of Dream hiding stuff from him—being someone aside from the wheezy, mischievous blond that George always thought he knew like the back of his hand—was terrifying. What would Dream do if he found out about what he saw? He feels sick to his stomach. 

Dream shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, querying casually, “What did you see?” And in any other circumstance, it would’ve been a perfectly normal question to ask. But now just those simple words made the brunette’s heart leap into his throat and blood roar louder in his ears. 

His grip on the glasses tighten. “It just…looks different. More vibrant.” George shifts uneasily, glancing to the side. For once he prayed that someone—Sapnap, or maybe even Bad—would come and diffuse the situation. The mood, which had previously been carefree and light, was now thick with tension and apprehension. Distrust gleams in George’s eyes as he takes a hesitant step back. His shoes flatten the green grass, wide eyes locked onto the beady black ones of Dream’s mask. 

Dream’s voice is dangerously quiet as he repeats himself, unnervingly calm but with something blatantly dangerous hidden beneath the surface of his innocent sounding words, “What did you see?” 

George, for his own sake, keeps his mouth shut. Fear coils like a snake in his stomach, making him shrink back when Dream extends a hand forward, “George, give me the glasses.”

His reply is quiet, the word full of doubt and consternation, “No.” Dream stills at the word, his arm falling limp to his side. The brunette takes a shaky breath, his mouth dry, and takes a few more steps back. His friend is terrifyingly silent, simply standing there and watching him retreat. 

“George,” he says quietly. George strains to hear his voice over the sound of the wind blowing past, but Dream makes no attempt to make himself more easily heard, “I don’t—”

“What the fuck are you hiding from me?” He interrupts, clutching the glasses close to his chest. Dream takes a step forward, refusing to answer. Red alarms blare loud in George’s head, all the hairs on his body standing on end as the blond shuffles towards him through the lush grass. He watches the dandelion drop to the ground, discarded carelessly in the midst of Dream’s demands for the colorblind glasses.

Eventually Dream sighs, raises a hand to the sword strapped to his back, and that’s when George starts to run.

The wind whips into his face, making him blink and squint against the cool air as he races away from someone who he calls his friend. For once he curses the beautiful lands, because as breathtaking as they are, they offer little to no hiding places for the brunette. He hears Dream behind him, his thudding footsteps a sharp indicator of his whereabouts, and pushes his burning legs to move faster. His lungs ache for more and more oxygen with each passing second. George watches something sharp and glinting whizz by his cheek, seeing the telltale hilt of a dagger just before it loses momentum mid-flight and drops to the ground with a muffled clatter. 

Behind him—his breathing labored from the run and his voice strained—Dream shouts, “I don’t want to do this, George!”

“Bullshit!” He cries back aggressively, regretting the action almost instantly as it uses up too much of the rapidly decreasing air in his lungs. He sucks in another panting breath, mind abuzz with plans of escape and ways to lose Dream in the vast, open plains. Adrenaline pumps fast in his veins, blood roaring in his ears and his heart thrumming violently against his rib cage. George takes a wild glance to the left, and sees the dark, dense forest. It would offer plenty of cover—if he could get there.

Dream seems to realize what he’s thinking, and tries to cut him off. It doesn’t work, thankfully, but it succeeds to some degree as George can now hear his loud, panting breaths as if they were right next to his ear. The forest is so close, he thinks desperately, just a little more and he’d be safe. 

Unfortunately, luck is not on his side today. George hears the whoosh of metal slicing through the air just before he feels the polished iron digging into the back of his leg. He yelps, agony crackling up his leg like lightning, and tumbles. The grass is soft, cushioning his fall slightly as he makes painful contact with the hard ground. 

The dagger stays embedded in the flesh of his thigh, warm crimson blood bubbling up from the wound. George pushes himself up, turning around with a hiss and immediately grabbing at the leather hilt. The logical side of his brain stops him, telling him no, that’s a bad idea as he’d just bleed out if he extracted it. Then what can he do? Fuck, shit, why did Dream have to have such good aim? Oh fuck  _ Dream.  _ He’s gonna catch him he’s coming closer oh god he can’t run like this goddamn it fucking hurts so much please don’t let him die here please please—

A shadow looms over him. Dream has his mask pulled to the side, revealing his freckled features for once as he stares down at George with a blank face. His eyes, usually so bright and expressive, are scarily dull, his lips thinned into a flat line that betray nothing but indifference.

“I didn’t want to do this, George,” he sighs, unsheathing the gleaming sword from his back. George tries in vain to scoot back, the movement of his injured limb causing a sharp, needle like pain to shoot through his nerves. The sword—how many times has Dream used that to save him? Too many to count—gleams in the sun’s warm rays. 

“Dream,” George pleads, salty tears pricking at the corners of his chocolate colored eyes. His voice cracks, dying out with every word, “I-I thought—was everything we had—me, Sapnap, and you—just a game to you? Please, I….“

Dream does not reply. He steps towards George slowly, the weapon dragging across the ground creating a sickening noise that makes George’s stomach twist in fear. Dream’s face is void of any emotion as he approaches.

So, this is it, George thinks hazily. After everything, it was going to end like this? Maybe if he had just told Dream what he saw—maybe they could’ve actually worked things out and Dream could’ve explained. But instead he had let fear hold him in its tight grip and control him like he was a puppet on a string. And now look where they are.

“I’m sorry.” Dream murmurs ruefully. The words are disgustingly monotone, as if it were just some chore that he had to do—as if  _ killing  _ didn’t really matter all that much to him. The sword lifts over his head, rearing back like a snake preparing to strike. George takes a quivering breath, grass curling beneath his fingers, and watches through teary eyes as the sword glints menacingly. Dream brings his arm down, and George’s world goes black. 

—

“George!  _ George!” _

George’s eyes snap open to stare at the ceiling. God, it’s hot in here, is his first thought. He feels the sweat running down his forehead, his hands tightly gripping what he presumes are bed sheets. A ceiling fan whirrs above him, the soft sound oddly comforting and familiar. His chest heaves with every breath; he can feel something warm and soft tangled between his legs. He sits up, his body aching with the movement, and looks to the side to see Dream, his buddy, his best friend, the guy he’s probably in love with—and oh god Dream killed him why is he here how is he alive oh god what the fuck he’s going to die again isn’t he? 

Dream reaches towards him, and George instinctively flinches away. The blond remains undeterred by his reaction and proceeds to cup his cheeks, turning the brunette towards him so George can see the dark bags under his emerald eyes and the way his hair was mussed, as if he had hurriedly scrambled out of bed. “George,” he soothes softly, “it was a nightmare, calm down.”

“Wh-What?” He stammers, trying to fight the urge to lean into the cool hands that rest on his cheeks. Dream’s touch is comforting, the feeling of his cool palms on George’s flushed skin equivalent to the sensation of the first sip from an iced drink during a hot day. His mind buzzes with relief, the idea that it was just a nightmare and that Dream didn’t really kill him enough to slightly calm his violently pounding heart. 

“Breathe.” Dream coos gently, moving so that he is sat on the bed with the other. He presses his forehead against George’s sweaty one, unperturbed by how gross it really was to be doing such a thing, and George finds himself getting lost in the brilliant green ocean that was Dream’s eyes. Dream inhales slowly, and so he does the same. “That’s it, it was just a dream,” he murmurs. George doesn’t have the energy to snort at the irony of his words, “it’s okay. I’m here.”

“You’re here.” He repeats softly. They stay like that for a few minutes, staring into each other’s eyes with George trying to calm the intense thrumming of his heart. A few minutes pass of this; George closes his eyes and settles for listening to Dream’s soft, rhythmic exhales. When he opens them again he feels at peace—definitely calmer than before—so Dream lets him pull away. The brunette tugs the blanket up to his waist. He glances at the calendar on his wall—it’s unreadable through the darkness. He turns to his friend, “What day is it?”

“It’s technically Tuesday,” the blond answers. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, “the ninth, I think. You said you were going to try on your colorblind glasses today, remember?”

That was the date in his dream. George swallows heavily, his mouth suddenly dry, and shifts to see the colorblind glasses sitting right on the table next to his bed. It couldn’t have been  _ just _ a nightmare then, could it? Maybe it had been some sort of alternate outcome his far too creative mind had conjured up, he reasons. But was it really just a coincidence? Doubt niggles at the back of his mind. George shifts his gaze back to the blond at his side, who is peering at him curiously through the dim lighting. 

“Dream,” he begins slowly. God, he shouldn’t be doing this should he? What if he was wrong, what if it really was just some stupid nightmare? Even so, he didn’t want it to end like before. Nightmare or not, dying was not something he preferred—it was the last thing he wanted, in fact. 

“Hmm?” Dream hums, his eyes peacefully closed. He is leaned back against the wall, probably tired from the abrupt awakening. George can see through the cracks in the blinds, the lack of light telling him that it was likely still in the early hours of the morning. It’s almost wrong, he thinks as he gazes upon Dream’s innocent looking features, how could someone so pretty—someone so kind and giving—how could someone like Dream possibly have something evil inside him? It just didn’t feel right, the idea of it was just so  _ wrong  _ to him.

“Um,” He stutters intelligently. Suddenly all his confidence is lost when Dream lazily cracks an eye open and stares at him from the corner of his vision. He grabs a fistful of the blankets in his sweaty hands, eyes squeezing tightly shut. Did he really want to do this?

He remembers the sharp stinging pain of Dream’s dagger digging into the soft skin of his thigh, the feeling of the blood running down his leg. The nightmare—if it even was that, he wasn’t quite sure anymore—had been scarily vivid. George didn’t want to live in fear of his best friend—he wanted trust. So he had to do this. He takes a deep breath, calming himself, preparing himself for whatever happens. It couldn’t be worse than in the dream, that was for sure. The thought soothes him to some degree, allowing him to scrape together just enough confidence to ask what he needed to ask. George glances at the colorblind glasses once more, before he turns to stare at the man beside him. 

“What are you hiding from me?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back everyone :)

Dream stills. He’s silent, his gaze dropping down to stare blankly at the floor. The room is frozen. Irrationally, George fears that Dream is going to suddenly go psycho and strangle him—but nothing happens still. Then, without warning, he suddenly brightens, his eyes lighting up with their signature teasing glint as he chuckles, as if he was a robot and the lull in emotion had simply been a malfunction in his programming. He laughs, but it sounds strangely forced, “Where’s this coming from?”

_ He’s nervous.  _ George looks to the side, bringing his knees to his chest. Something is wrong with that. Dream never gets nervous, as far as he knows. Just that fact alone makes the seeds of doubt settle deep in his stomach. He suddenly feels stupid, as if the suspicion was playing with his mind and making him hear and see things that weren’t there. What if Dream really didn’t know what he was talking about? This whole thing—his panic, all the doubt, feeling so terribly  _ anxious  _ just to ask his friend a simple question—it would all have been pointless. George shifts, pulling the colorblind glasses off the table to hold them in his hands. They bring little comfort. He swallows dryly, “Well, in my, uh, nightmare…”

Dream laughs suddenly, startling him, “You realize that your dreams don’t really have any meaning, right George?” He wheezes—but just like the laugh before it sounds a little less natural and a little more fake. George quiets, his face growing hot with embarrassment, “You’re such an idiot.”

He turns to face the blond, fairly certain that the tips of his ears were bright red, “No! The nightmare—it wasn’t—it was vivid, it was…” his voice dies out and he trails off, suddenly unsure of himself. He stares down at his fingers, ones that had previously been dirty with fresh blood— _ his own blood _ —and scrunches his eyes shut. “It felt  _ real _ .”

His friend is quiet. The air is thick with tension, a pregnant pause filling the room. He hears Dream sigh, and the movement in the corner of his peripheral vision causes him to twist his head to look. Dream runs a hand through his messy hair, tilting his head back against the wall. He makes no move to respond, however, so George takes that as an opportunity to talk. 

“Dream, do you not trust me?” He asks quietly, watching his friend’s eyes widen at the question. Honestly, the idea of him not being trusted by someone he’s known for years, someone who’s one of his closest friends, is disheartening. George tries not to let himself get emotional at the thought. Not right now. He can cry later. Or not. Depending on if he lives through this.

“No! George that’s not—” He cuts himself off, his gaze darting away to land on the floor. “I don’t  _ not  _ trust you.” The brunette exhales slowly at that, tempted to huff out something about him not even telling him anything in the first place, but he decides against it. “It’s just..” Dream trails off, glancing away at the floor. “I don’t want you to be scared.”

His eyebrows furrow, confusion shining bright in his brown eyes. “Why would I be scared?” George asks, “You’re my friend, Dream.” 

Dream makes a sound that is somewhere between a scoff and laugh, “The term ‘friend’ doesn’t really mean anything when you hear the truth. I’ve learned that much.” He says bitterly, his eyes narrowing into angry slits. Sadness settles at the pit of George’s stomach. Who would dare? The thought of Dream being abandoned by someone he thought he could trust was just so heartbreaking—it made him a little angry, to be honest. 

“Dream.” George reaches out to place a hand on his friend’s arm. He doesn’t react to the contact, instead opting to turn further away. The brunette’s heart clenches in sympathy, “Dream, look at me.” 

“What?” Comes his quiet reply. He suddenly sounds tired, like just the memory of his past experiences had abruptly drained all of his energy. Not that there was much to begin with, seeing as it was likely around three am, but still. Nonetheless, Dream moves his head to look at George. George offers him a comforting smile, his head tilting in a look that—even through the darkness—makes Dream’s breath hitch in his throat. Don’t get him wrong, he knew George was a handsome guy. The amount of people that flocked to him was proof of that, but sometimes even Dream wasn’t immune to the charisma that the other held.

“Dream,” George starts. His voice is low, but filled with sincerity, “you are my friend. Nothing can change that. You are amazing and cool and—I would never abandon you because of some lousy secret you’re probably being unnecessarily dramatic about. Unless you’ve murdered someone,” he adds hastily, “but I doubt you’d do that without a good reason, even if you are an idiot.” Dream rolls his eyes.

“Wow, way to knock down my ego.” He pouts, trying to keep a bright grin from stretching across his face. The brunette’s words had made his heart stutter and sent tingles of warmth throughout his body. Damn. No wonder so many people were attracted to George.

“You’ll get over it.” George shrugs carelessly. Dream puts on a show of being hurt—which makes the other roll their eyes—before laughing and sliding off the bed with a small ‘hup!’ of effort. Expectedly, the other protests, “Hey, I didn’t make up that speech from the top of my head just for you to go back to sleep!”

Dream pats George’s head. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m just going to go get something,” he teases, “why are you so clingy?”

George balks at him. “I’m not—“ he starts, but Dream doesn’t give him any room to reply and strides out of the room. He’s left in silence, sitting there on his bed until the blond returns a minute later with something white and smooth in his hand. As he approaches, George realizes that it’s his mask, of all things. The plastic cover is the same as always, a white smile coupled with two beady black eyes that can either be friendly or threatening depending on the situation. George tilts his head curiously, confusion darkening his chocolate colored eyes as he inquires, “What’s your mask got to do with anything?”

Dream shushes him, and then taps the thing once. “Come on. Just show George, it’s alright.” He encourages, as if he were talking to a dog of some sort. It looks so stupid, two grown men sitting in a room at probably three am talking to a fucking  _ mask _ of all things. If Sapnap were to walk in now, they probably wouldn’t hear the end of it. And yet nothing changes, silence filling the air.

“Is something supposed to happen?” George raises an unimpressed eyebrow. 

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like this.” He whines, plopping himself down on the edge of the bed. “I promise it’s safe, we can trust George. Don’t make me look like an idiot.” 

The mask, obviously, does not respond. 

Instead, it moves.

George would like to say he’s generally a calm person, but he’s not afraid to admit that he shrieked like a banshee when four black, spider-like legs materialized from Dream’s mask. It jumps from his hands, landing on the bed and skittering towards him like some sort of bug. It settles at the foot of his blanket, standing and waiting for…something.

“George, shut up! You’re gonna wake up Sapnap,” Dream hisses, clamping a hand over the brunette’s mouth. George reacts instinctively, making Dream pull away and wipe his hand on his sweatpants. His freckles features contort in disgust, “Ew, what the hell? What are you, five?” 

“Dream,” he ignores his friend’s rhetorical question, opting instead to stare at the  _ living mask  _ sitting on his bed, “what in the everloving  _ fuck _ is that thing?”

“It’s my mask.” He states unhelpfully. Dream tilts his head thoughtfully, as if he wasn’t quite sure, “It’s a parasite...I think?” The blond glances at the creature, “Right?” Even though no sound comes out from it, Dream seems to understand and he nods his head, “Yeah, yeah. So I was right.”

“You can talk to it?” George asks incredulously. His eyes are wide with disbelief. The mask skitters around on the bed, seemingly bored. “How the hell-“

“Long story.” Dream sighs, “I got it a little while before we met. It’s weird,” the mask moves onto Dream’s lap, it’s black claw-leg-thingies adjusting so it can be in some sort of laying position, “kind of like a cat, I guess. It’s supposedly some cursed artifact—I found it in a shipwreck—and now I guess you could say we’re partners?” George blinks, the gears of his mind struggling to turn with all the new information being presented to him. The blond shrugs, “It likes me, and it wouldn’t have left me alone if I didn’t take it.” He rests a hand on what George thought was the plastic mask—he wasn’t quite sure what it was made of anymore, to be honest—and the thing fucking  _ leans up into his touch. What the fuck. _ Dream glances down at the thing, and leans over to whisper to George, “It’s actually pretty dangerous, even I have trouble controlling it sometimes.”

“So,” George starts slowly, holding his hands up, “wait, let me get this straight,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closing as he struggles to comprehend whatever the hell was going on, “you found to a shipwreck, raided it, and found the mask creature thing in one of the chests?” Dream nods, “And it chose you as its owner or something?” He hums in confirmation.  _ “And  _ it can, what—it acts like a cat?”

“Well, that’s not all...” he trails off. The hand resting on the mask lifts, and Dream coaxes it to stand. “Show Georgie what you can do, it’s okay.” It acts hesitant for a moment, turning towards its owner(?) first before shifting to face George like it was asking a question. “It’s safe, promise.”

George inhales sharply when two more legs pop out of the thing on each side, giving it the appearance of a sort of spider-like creature. Dream picks it up carefully, seemingly unfazed to the sharp claws poking his skin, and lifts it to his face. The brunette would be lying if he said that he wasn’t at least a little bit scared when the legs wrap around Dream’s face, pressing around his head and merging into the familiar black strap that he was used to seeing. Dream spreads his arms out, spinning around. 

“Ta-da.” He says in a voice that isn’t quite as enthusiastic as the phrase suggests. George, for a moment, thinks that it’s weird seeing Dream wear his mask without the signature green hoodie to accompany the outfit. The thought is discarded without much care as the blond removes the accessory—the same thing as before happening except in reverse. When all is said and done, the mask is left with four legs yet again. The other two had disappeared to...somewhere. George suspected that they had either retracted or merged into the other ones, as that was the most reasonable explanation.

George opens his mouth to speak, his voice a bit unsteady from having to process all this new information, “Does it feel-“ he pauses, then stops. “I shouldn’t ask that, should I?”

Dream shrugs indifferently, plopping down heavily on the bed again. It dips under his weight, making George bounce and shoot a displeased glare at him (which he ignores, unsurprisingly). He lays back against the mattress, the mask crawling up to rest on his chest, “It’s fine. Ask away,” he encourages, “You probably have a lot of questions.”

George hums in affirmation, pondering something for a moment before he speaks again. He shoots a curious glance at the mask, “So does it—does it sleep? Like, does it need energy?”

Through the dark, he sees Dream hesitate for only a split second before answering, “It feeds off my energy,” he pauses, frowning thoughtfully, “I guess you could say that we trade? It protects me if I ever get in trouble that I can’t handle in exchange for energy. It can’t survive without something to feed off. In other words, me.” He chuckles wryly, “It’s why I’m always so tired whenever I wear it for the entire day.” 

The brunette winces, “That sounds terrible,” he says sympathetically.

Dream shrugs, “It’s not all bad. Helps me get out of dangerous situations sometimes.”

Ah, so that’s why it seemed like Dream could never die. George mentally face palms, of course no normal person could get out of those kinds of situations so easily. It was all making sense now! Another question pops into his mind, “So what does it feel like when it—“ he raises his hands to his face to mimic the actions, “—it like, grabs into your face when you put it on?”

His friend takes longer this time, clearly searching for words to describe the sensation, “It’s like...I guess getting hugged?” He makes a face as if he were unsure about his words, adding on shortly after, “By something way smaller and lighter, I guess, but I can still breathe and see through it.”

George gives a ‘huh’ of acknowledgement. The silence that ensues prompts him to glance back outside, and instead of seeing the morning rays of the sun peeking through the blinds like he usually did, he sees nothing but dim moonlight shining through. It reminds him just how early in the morning it is—or late at night, he honestly couldn’t tell—and just that alone makes tiredness crash into his body as if it had been withheld the entire time. George yawns, suddenly exhausted. No longer did he feel scared and doubtful. Instead he feels…relieved. Content, even. Now that there were no more secrets between him and Dream, he could finally trust his friend again. 

Dream seems to have noticed his exhaustion, judging by the way his eyes soften and he sits up. The mask falls into his hand—George didn’t know when the legs had disappeared, but apparently they had—and he stands up. 

“We should go back to sleep.” He suggests, to which George nods tiredly. The blond chuckles apologetically, “Sorry, I kept you up.”

“‘S fine,” George mumbles, adjusting the pillows so that they were back in their rightful places. “Just glad there are n’more secrets between us.” He yawns again, plopping his head on the cool pillow, bringing the blanket up to cover his body. His eyes drift shut almost automatically.

“Yeah,” Dream replies quietly. Even through his drowsiness, George notices the way his voice is uncharacteristically soft. He can feel Dream’s eyes on him, not boring into his skull as if he wanted to kill him but rather just observing. He hears soft footsteps heading towards the door, and then the creak as it swings open. “Goodnight George,” his friend calls out. Through his exhaustion addled brain, he picks up something unusual within Dream’s tone. It’s not unusual in a menacing way, but rather soft, gentle in a way.  _ Loving.  _ His chest warms at the thought.

“Goodnight, Dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't too sure about this, but I decided to post it anyway because I want to move on with other things. Usually I don't do two shots as my motivation disappears just as quick as it comes, but I really wanted to get this out for you guys! Thank you for all the lovely comments, hopefully you can leave me one on your thoughts here? I love reading them, they make me so happy. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't ship real people. These are meant to be about their personas. Please don't attack me anti-shippers.
> 
> please comment i'll die inside if you don't I worked so hard on this please ;-;


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